A Little Christmas Story
by baywinger
Summary: When little Beth has her worst Christmas ever, two guardian angels watch over her.


Sadly, I own nothing. This is a little late in the season, but maybe no one will mind. Worst case, you can save it for next year, no?

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_You know, I've lived in L.A. all of my life, hell, I've lived here longer dead than alive. Still, I've never had a problem with all of those Christmas songs pining after 'white Christmases'. I've been fine with palm trees decorated in lights, and mall Santa Clauses in shorts. Never bothered me, never made me feel like I was missing anything._

Until this year.

Beth was crying. She was trying to keep quiet, to not disturb anyone, but the tiny sniffles and whimpers cut straight through Mick's head and pierced his silent heart. He cursed under his breath as he felt the steering wheel bend just a bit under his hands. He let go, and put his clenched fists in his lap. The Mercedes didn't need to pay for his frustration.

He took a long breath; mercifully the air was clean, just hints of pine and eucalyptus burning in various fireplaces around the dark neighborhood. The cold snap kept Beth's window closed; Mick didn't know if he could keep himself in the car if he could smell her despair. If he could see the tears wetting her cheeks, her thin shoulders shaking under the quilt, he might not be able to stop himself from going to her, holding her to his chest, telling her it was all right to grieve; she wasn't alone, she didn't ever have to be alone…

He froze, his hand on the trellis below her window. _Damn it, man. What are you doing?_ Woodenly, he turned away, forcing each step with the thought of the damage he'd cause if he tried to touch her again. It was far, far better if she forgot. Forgot the monsters, forgot him.

If only he could forget.

His neck felt colder without her arms wrapped so tightly there.

His hand hurt with the emptiness her fingers slipping from his left behind.

Why did a moment in his endless existence leave such a gaping void in his life? Why did the touch of one child tattoo itself to his soul? The scent of strawberry shampoo and tears a reminder of everything he lost, everything he dreamed, he hoped, he could never ever have, marking him for eternity.

"Why did you have to go?"

Mick startled at the brittle words keened into the chill night above his head. He almost answered her, _Because I love you_, but she continued before the thought could leave his heart. It wasn't him she was missing.

"Grandpa, why? It's Christmas, Grandpa! I made you an angel; I was going to put it on your tree. We were going to go sledding on the hill behind your house and bring Grandma gingerbread cookies at the cemetery on Christmas Eve. We were going to go to church with the candles, then go home and have cocoa and candy canes. There would be snow, and lights on all the houses, and it would be Christmas. But you had to go, and I'll never see you again, and I'll never have another Christmas. I miss you Grandpa!"

Mick felt staked in place by her words. He'd known why she was crying, of course, which was why he was sitting out, well, technically standing now, in front of her house. He might not be able to show himself, but he could at least be there. She might not know it, but she was not going to be alone. She would never be alone.

The window squeaked shut and muffled her continued sobs. The attenuation of her grief freed him, and he folded to his knees onto the wet grass. His head bowed, he let his tears run cool down his face. This was something he couldn't protect her from. Life ended, was always changing, and it hurt. He'd long ago lost his family, and the human memories began to grow dim. This child's pain, fresh, new, brought them back to him. And so he wept with the child above him.

He felt the rain start, but since it mattered little to one which cold had no meaning, he ignored it as it soaked through his coat and dripped from his hair. As an hour passed, the air continued to chill until the wetness turned to white. Even then, it wasn't until the snow began to hold on the ground that Mick lifted his head to see a thin, magical coat of silver surrounding him. He stood and felt himself smile as the flakes silently muffled the edges of the night. He turned and jogged to the Mercedes, dark against the swirling sparkles dancing in the yellow streetlights.

Beth's grandfather wanted her to have Christmas. He couldn't bring her the past, no more than Mick could touch her, but he sent her a reminder that he was always going to watch over her. Mick looked up at the Christmas snow drifting from clouds hanging low and fat overhead, and marveled at the simplicity of the message. None would doubt her in the morning when she saw it and knew that Grandpa had sent it. Mick certainly wouldn't, though he had every reason to question.

He felt peace settle in his chest with each falling flake. This night, he could believe.


End file.
